


A Question of Wanting

by Fanforthefics (StormDancer)



Series: Hockey Tumblr Oneshots [23]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Bets & Wagers, Developing Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-26 15:52:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16684570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormDancer/pseuds/Fanforthefics
Summary: Tyson's not going to break first.





	A Question of Wanting

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: a kiss...out of lust
> 
> Don't know, don't own, etc

Here’s the thing–Tyson is definitely not going to break first. 

“Yeah, that’s probably a good thing,” Nate agrees, when Tyson tells him that, one night after practice when they’re idly watching Netflix and definitely not ruining their diet plans. “Gabe’s been on fire recently, you don’t want to mess with that.” 

Tyson glares, and also eats a cookie. It’s a combination he’s perfected over the years. “Are you saying I mess with his game?” 

Nate makes an apologetic face, because he knows that’s a thing people would say and how shitty it is. But also, “I mean, all that energy has to go somewhere, and it’s not going into fucking you, so…” 

“It could go into fucking me if he would just break,” Tyson mutters. Clearly he’s not going to break first, but also, it’s been a week since he properly touched Gabe and he’s gone longer but it still sucks. Or rather, it doesn’t. “Am I seriously not that attractive?”

Nate pats him on the head. “You’re very hot, Brutes.” 

“I am,” Tyson agrees, waving another cookie at him. Nate’s mom makes the best cookies. “I am very hot, and Gabe should remember that. I might not be Gabe the Babe, but I am in fact very hot. Gabe wants this.” 

“Okay,” Nate agrees. He looks pretty done with this topic, but if he really didn’t want to talk about it anymore he would tell Tyson so, or maybe hit him with a pillow. it’s how their friendship works. “He wants you.” 

“He does.” Tyson crosses his arms and pouts at the TV. “Just not enough.” 

Nate rolls his eyes. “You wouldn’t be in this if you guys didn’t make this stupid bet.” 

“It’s not a bet, it’s a challenge,” Tyson informs him, because it is. That’s important. “And it’s all EJ’s fault.” 

“You didn’t have to take the challenge.” 

Tyson scoffs. Nate smirks too. That’s clearly a ridiculous statement. “What was I supposed to do, leave Gabe and EJ and everyone thinking I’m more into him then he’s into me?” 

“Definitely not.” Nate makes a face, then, like it’s being dragged out of him. “But, um. Was making a bet that the other would be the first to break and need sex first the right way to prove it?” 

“It’s too late now,” Tyson says instead of answering. Fuck, but he’s horny. He wants to have sex. Specifically, he wants to have sex with Gabe. Admittedly, it’s not entirely outside of…whatever they’re doing to go have sex with someone else, but… Tyson’s not going to do that. It’d be cheating on the challenge, or something. 

He wonders if Gabe is, and that’s why he doesn’t seem to be affected. It’s a realistic thought, but not one he lingers on. 

“Okay, then. You have to step up your game.” Nate leans in, snags a cookie too. “I’m talking full on seduction.” 

Tyson sits up and grins at him. “I like the way you think, Dogg. Hit me with your ideas.” 

* * *

Tyson starts with wearing all the smallest clothes he owns. It’s not actually that hard–he’s bulked up this summer, and even his normal t-shirts are a little tighter than usual–but he leans into it. 

“Are those jeans painted on?” EJ asks, as Tyson gets dressed in the locker room. Tyson’s maybe having a little trouble getting the jeans on, but it’s basically over and no one else noticed. 

Except now, everyone’s looking. Including Gabe, who only has his own obscenely tight jeans on and no shirt and there’s water dripping from his hair down his neck over his chest and then his abs and into the line of his jeans. Tyson isn’t looking or anything. But he does look long enough to see that Gabe’s looking at him–specifically, his general jeans region. 

“What, these?” Tyson asks. He knows he’s not going to sound innocent but he doesn’t really care. “I just found them, what do you think?” He twists; Nate snorts but Gabe is definitely looking at his ass, so Tyson’s going to count it as a win. Then maybe Gabe will break and instead of going out with everyone they can go back to Tyson’s and fuck. And then Gabe will make Tyson pancakes, because Tyson can usually bully him into that even if he complains. 

“They look great, T-Bear,” Josty pipes up, smirking at Gabe. Tyson nods to him in Tyson solidarity. 

“You’re wearing them to the bar tonight?” EJ adds. He’s also smirking at Gabe. Tyson’s a little worried that the whole team energy will turn on him next time Gabe makes a move, but he’s going to ride it for now. Gabe’s a little red now, and he pulls on his t-shirt in a clear move to cover his face. “We’ll have to beat the boys away with a stick.” 

“Who says I want you to?” Tyson retorts, which gets a ‘oooh!’ from Mikko, and eyebrow waggle from EJ, and Gabe emerging from his t-shirt still flushed but now he’s smirking too. There’s a lot of smirking going on. Tyson may need to learn to smirk as well. 

Gabe pauses by Tyson’s stall on his way out, his hand dropping down over Tyson’s side and just barely brushing against his ass as he passes. “I know what you’re doing,” he murmurs, and his voice is low and rough and his beard brushes against Tyson’s ear and Tyson maybe shivers. Fuck, he hopes these tight jeans won’t become a problem. “It’s not going to work.” 

Tyson wills himself not to lean into Gabe. “Your move, Landeskog,” he retorts. 

Gabe chuckles, and keeps going. Tyson takes a few deep breathes before he moves again. He’s not going to break. He’s not. 

* * *

He reminds himself of that again at the bar, where Gabe shows up not in the clothes he left practice in, but instead in his own ridiculously tight jeans and the sweater he knows Tyson thinks he looks incredibly hot in, because Tyson has told him this before. It brings out his eyes and does great things for his shoulders and chest and every time Gabe wears it Tyson wants to rip it off of him. It’s whatever. Tyson’s fine. 

Gabe slides into the booth across from Tyson, and grins. “Everything okay?” 

“Yes,” Tyson announces. Then, “I’m getting a drink. Anyone else want one? No? Good.” 

He leaves as he hears Comes say, “I actually would like a–” 

He makes it to the bar, orders a sangria. Takes a breath. It’s fine. It’s been barely a week. Tyson lasted the whole off season. 

It’s just–since the season started, it’s felt different. Last season they’d just been fooling around, whatever. But then they’d had, like, an intense night after they got knocked out of the playoffs when Gabe had basically grabbed onto Tyson and barely let him go to drive back to Gabe’s, and then it had felt almost romantic, how they’d had sex slow and somehow cathartically and then Gabe had cuddled into Tyson and Tyson had somehow kept talking until he looked less like he was carrying the whole weight of them getting knocked out on his shoulders. And in the morning Tyson had woken up and Gabe had made them pancakes without Tyson even bitching about it and they’d eaten in Gabe’s sunny kitchen with Zoey being as dramatic as her dad about how she wanted pieces and it had been…nice. Different, somehow. 

And Gabe had kept texting during the off season, more than he usually did, and so Tyson did too, and maybe Tyson had drunk dialed him more than once for some phone sex, but Gabe had definitely been into it. And this season–it hadn’t been a question. This season, until this week, Tyson had barely slept in his own bed. 

It’s just different, he thinks, and takes the sangria the bartender hands him. He turns back to the group–they’re all deep in conversation about something, but as he looks over, Gabe looks up and catches Tyson watching. He grins. Tyson glares, then turns to the group of girls getting drinks next to him. 

“Hi, excuse me, sorry about this,” he says. They all turn to him. The closest one raises her eyebrows skeptically at him. She’s cute, with unnaturally red curls and awesomely dramatic makeup. “Can you pretend to be talking to me for a second? I”m trying to prove I’m not paying attention to my friends over there. I promise I’ll go away quietly after a second.” 

The girls all look at each other, then glance over at the table, then shrugs. “Yeah, sure,” The redhead says. “I’m Carmen. What’s your name?” 

“Tyson,” Tyson says, and smiles thankfully. “No, this round’s on me,” He tells the bartender, as he comes over to take the girls’ order. “Put it on my tab. I owe them.” 

One of the girls tilts her head at him. “Do you play hockey?” she asks, slowly. “I swear you look familiar.” 

Tyson beams. “I do!” He says enthusiastically. That starts enough of a conversation, because even though apparently only the girl who asked about it is a fan, it’s still a topic of conversation. Then things spiral a little bit, and Tyson ends up bringing the whole group back to the table, and somehow discussing makeup with Carmen for an hour as Kerfy strikes out hilariously with Shannon, the hockey-liker. 

Something knocks against Tyson’s foot, while he’s talking with Carmen. Tyson looks up–Gabe’s watching him, biting his lip a little, and he’s not smiling anymore. Tyson narrows his eyes at him in a question, but Gabe just shakes his head. Then he runs his toe up Tyson’s calf almost to his knee, and Tyson yelps, and then everyone laughs at him, including Gabe. 

* * *

Then Gabe gets a hat trick. Tyson has to physically avoid Gabe to make sure he doesn’t do something rash and break, because  _fuck_. 

* * *

“Landy was looking for you after the game,” Nate says mildly on the way home. “He looked kind of sad you didn’t congratulate him.” 

“I couldn’t.” Tyson feels bad about that, but. “It was too dangerous. Did you see those goals? And how he looked afterwards? I mean his hockey is always gorgeous but I was ready to–” 

“TMI!” Nate shouts. “Ugh, fine. But text him at least.” 

“Fine,” Tyson sighs, but he pulls out his phone.  _Beauty goals!_ he texts to Gabe.  _find a hat that fits your head yet?_

 _you’d know if you’d stuck around_ , Gabe replies, which is sulky enough that he is mad. 

 _not my fault you’re too hot after a hattie_ , Tyson texts back.  _I’m not going to be suckered into breaking just because of your gorgeous hockey._

The dots show up for a long time, then.  _You’re killing me here, 4._

_You could break. Just have to ask_

_Fuck that_

_But not me_

Gabe sends back a row of frowny faces, then a picture of Zoey, so really Tyson’s getting a lot of mixed messages here, none of which is getting his dick sucked. He must make a noise, because Nate rolls his eyes as he merges closely enough that Tyson grabs onto the door. 

“It’s just a challenge,” he points out. “You could give up.” 

Tyson shakes his head, looks out the window where the cars are going by, Denver in the background. “I can’t,” he says. Quieter than he wants it to be. “I–it can’t be true.” 

“That you want Gabe more than he wants you?” Nate snorts. “Trust me. I’ve been in a room with you two. It’s pretty clear that’s not true.”

“Yeah, well. I’d like to see you hook up with a literal almost-model and not get a complex,” Tyson retorts, because this is all getting super close to home. He’d like to see Nate see Gabe all scruffy in the mornings as he got ready for practice or reading on the couch with Zoey’s head in his lap or beaming at his computer screen as he Skypes Sweden and not feel–more, maybe. Then he was sure was what they were doing. 

Nate sighs, then. “He likes it when you say nice things about him.” 

“Well he’s in luck, I can’t stop apparently.” Tyson pauses. “Wait. Likes, or  _likes_? And how do you know this, MacKinnon?” 

Nate is very clearly looking at the road ahead. “I plead the fifth.” 

“You’re not American, you can’t do that.” 

“I’m in America, I have rights.” 

“You don’t know that, you–” 

“I’m not telling,” Nate says, and then disappointingly keeps his promise. 

* * *

“Yeah, Gabe has a real flair for the dramatic,” Tyson tells the camera, and for once lets himself be actually shameless. 

When he’s done and the media’s gone, he sees Gabe watching him, and sure enough, his eyes are dark and his tongue flicks out to wet his lips. Tyson swallows. 

“Seriously?” he asks. 

Gabe shrugs. 

Mikko snorts. “If you like hearing someone say nice things about you, you’ve chosen the right person,” he tells Gabe. 

“I can keep going,” Tyson adds, before Gabe has a chance to say anything about choosing people or how he hasn’t chosen people. Mikko might as well have said boyfriend and really started something. 

“Should I start, then?” Gabe asks. He’s still glowing a little bit from his game tonight. If Tyson were going to break, he’d be very tempted to find like, a supply closet or something. He takes a step towards Tyson. “Should we talk about your night?” 

“Nope!” Tyson yelps, There is proof all over the internet that Tyson is incapable of keeping it together when Gabe tells him nice things. “That’s okay.” 

“Don’t play with fire if you can’t take it back,” Gabe tells him. He looks very smug. It is, irritatingly, one of Tyson’s favorite looks on him–when he’s smug and confident and just a little arrogant. 

“You don’t play with fire,” Tyson mutters, and grabs a towel. It’s time for a judicious retreat. 

“Tyson,” Gabe starts, “Tyson, come on, stay–” But Tyson’s already on his way to the showers. 

* * *

Gabe has a bunch of the guys over for a casual, making sure everyone’s fitting in on the new team sort of thing, so Tyson shows up with a cake he baked himself because all of his energy needs to go somewhere that isn’t fucking Gabe. 

“Don’t worry, I’ve saved you from Gabe’s kale smoothies,” he announces as he opens the door. From the living room, Gabe groans. 

“That was one time!” he objects, but Tyson’s a little busy dealing with Zoey jumping on him, either because she missed him or because she wants cake. Tyson suspects the latter. 

He leans down anyway to pet her, because he’s missed her, even if it’s not reciprocated. “I”m putting the cake in the kitchen,” he calls, and gets enough sounds of acknowledgment that he knows the hordes will come out soon enough. 

Sure enough, he’s dodging Zoey–who knows he’s maybe weak for her begging face–and grabbing a knife to cut himself a slice of the cake when Josty wanders in. 

He looks droopy, which is unusual for him; Tyson changes the angle on the knife. “Everything okay?” he asks. 

Josty shrugs. “I’m supposed to stay away from bright lights,” he says, waving back towards the video games going on in the living room. 

“Sucks,” Tyson agrees. “Cake?” 

“Yeah,” Josty sighs. Tyson hands him the extra large slice of cake. 

“Cake will always be there for you,” Tyson informs him, cutting him a slice of his own. “Even when your head betrays you.” 

“Yeah.” Josty makes a face. “I’m just  _bored_. I can’t do anything fun.” 

“Sure you can. You could take up baking. We could have a bakeoff! Or you could like, learn guitar. Or read books, I guess, but that seems iffy.” 

“I can read!” Josty protests. Tyson cocks his head. 

“I never said you couldn’t,” he points out, and takes a bite of the cake. It’s a little dry. “Whipped cream?” 

“Gabe has whipped cream?” 

“For pancakes, I insisted,” Tyson tells him, and gets it from the fridge. “Here.” He puts a bunch of whipped cream on Josty’s cake, then on his own. “He was eating pancakes with just butter, so I made sure to educate him.” 

Josty snorts. “On whipped cream?” 

“On the important things in life, yeah,” Tyson says. He takes another bite of cake–much better–and licks his lips. “Like whipped cream. Whipped cream will always be there for you too.” He shoots a look at Josty. “Even when reading, I hear.” 

“I’ve read a book!” Josty retorts, but he’s laughing. Tyson takes a satisfied bite of cake. He was maybe a little ambitious about the whipped cream; it gets not just on the cake but also on his nose. 

“What’s going on in here?” Tyson turns, and Gabe’s in the doorway. God, Tyson hadn’t even been planning–he’s in his now-usual tight jeans and a t-shirt, but he’s also eating cake and has whipped cream on his nose. Gabe looks like a model. Which he always does, but–he looks even more so, somehow, with the sun streaming through the windows to light of his hair and the smile lines at his eyes. Fuck, Tyson wants–so much. 

“We’re raiding your fridge for whipped cream,” Tyson informs him. “Also, pick up eggs.” 

Josty snorts. Gabe cocks his head. “What?” 

Tyson knows he’s going red, but–”You need eggs,” he tells Gabe, because look he’d noticed that in the fridge, okay? He’s allowed to notice shit. “You don’t have any and you get sulky when you don’t have eggs in the morning if you want them, so get them. And also paper towels, because let’s be real we’re going to need at least a roll tonight, and–” 

“You have whipped cream on your nose,” Gabe informs him. Tyson rolls his eyes as he licks it off. Gabe at least watches his tongue, so that’s something. 

“Yes, Gabriel, thank you, I noticed, why do you think I was considering your paper towel supply? I’m not going to like, have a paper towel war back here.” He pauses. “Unless…” 

Gabe grins, and–wow, that grin is never going to get less heart-stopping. “Please do not have a paper towel fight,” he says, taking a step forward, and Tyson does the only reasonable thing, which is rip off a piece of paper towel, ball it up, and throw it at Gabe. 

Gabe blinks as it bounces off of him. “Did you seriously just throw a paper towel at me?” 

“Yes.” Tyson is going to brazen through this if nothing else. “Now are you going to break, at my amazing paper towel war skills?” 

Gabe laughs. “Yeah, that’s what’s going to get me to break.” 

“I knew it.” Tyson crosses his arms triumphantly. “Go me. You ready to ravish me, or do I have to pull out the big guns?” 

“You haven’t yet?” 

“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” Tyson informs him, then grabs the whipped cream. He sprays a bunch onto his hand, then drags two fingers through it, so he can lick it off. Slowly. While keeping eye contact with Gabe. 

Gabe’s gaze definitely goes dark. So Tyson does it again. He’s got his fingers in his mouth when it occurs to him that, “Hey, how long does whipped cream stay good for?” 

Gabe chokes, then shakes his head, then wipes his hand over his mouth. Then he looks back up at Tyson. “I love you.” 

Tyson’s finger falls out of his mouth, fast. “What?” 

“I love you,” Gabe says again. 

“Like, as buddies?” 

“Not just as buddies.” He sounds–certain. Sure. The words are filling Tyson up from his toes to his head and Gabe is looking at Tyson soft and warm and his eyes are shining and he’s looked at Tyson like that before but there hasn’t been an emotion to that before and fuck, Tyson wants to taste those words off of his lips. 

“Fuck it, I don’t care who wins,” Tyson decides, then he crosses the room in two quick strides to tug Gabe in. Gabe’s laughing into his mouth, and Tyson’s hand is still sticky with the remnants of whipped cream, and it’s been weeks and Gabe’s as good a kisser as Tyson remembered. Tyson’s hands slide down from Gabe’s shoulders to his ass. He missed Gabe’s ass. He needs to get reacquainted. Gabe clearly feels the same way, given how he’s apparently trying to devour Tyson. 

“Um, guys?” Josty says. “You can do what you want and I’m happy for you and all, but you’re kind of blocking the door.” 

Tyson manages to remove his mouth from Gabe’s lips. “You’ve got a room upstairs,” he points out. “It’s been weeks, Gabe.” 

“No fucking kidding,” Gabe agrees, and slides his hands down to Tyson’s wrist. “Enjoy yourself!” He calls to the living room. “Beer’s in the fridge!”  

“Seriously?” Nate asks. 

“Where are you going?” EJ demands. 

“We broke!” Tyson calls back, and Gabe groans but ignores the catcalls as he tugs Tyson upstairs, then to his room. They barely get the door closed before Tyson’s tugging Gabe back against it, kissing him again until Gabe’s groaning into his mouth and Tyson can feel him getting hard. 

Then Tyson lifts his head. “Hey,” he says. “You want me a lot.” 

“You think?” Gabe demands. “Was that ever in question? You’ve been killing me, Tys.” When Tyson doesn’t say anything, his face softens. “Was that actually in question?” 

“You’re a lot!” Tyson protests. “And like, we hadn’t said what this was and I wasn’t even sure if you were sleeping with anyone else and I really like you and I wasn’t sure–” 

“Trust me,” Gabe cuts him off, and his voice is low and rough, and his hands are on Tyson’s hips now, pulling him closer. “However much you want me, I want you more.” 

“Really?” Tyson raises an eyebrow. “I really like you. And want you. Probably more than you do.” He waits a second for Gabe to get it, to see Gabe grin. “I bet I want you more.” 

“Shut up, Tyson,” Gabe says, on something that’s half groan and half laugh and all Tyson’s, and then tugs him into a kiss to make sure he does just that. 

**Author's Note:**

> Liked it? Want to talk about it? Comment or come chat on tumblr at [ fanforthefics!](http://fanforthefics.tumblr.com/)


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